


A Date in a Jar in the Cupboard (woo me with bad lines)

by quigui



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, First Dates, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quigui/pseuds/quigui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was not on purpose, Stiles assures. Not that first time. Derek was on his computer, they were looking for a seller of frog’s skin on eBay, when Stiles realized that Derek was still living in prehistoric times.</p><p>“You still use Internet Explorer!? Wow, you must like it nice and slow.”</p><p>Clearly Stiles didn’t run this through his head first, but as soon as it left his mouth, he knew that it was a bit too forward. But maybe Derek wouldn’t get it.</p><p>Derek got it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Date in a Jar in the Cupboard (woo me with bad lines)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philippa_vic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philippa_vic/gifts).



> Birthday gift for [Phillipavic](http://phillipavic.tumblr.com), based on my own tags for [this post](http://quigui.tumblr.com/post/106225517885), which she said I should write it. (Only took me a year and something...)

It was not on purpose, Stiles assures. Not that first time. Derek was on his computer, they were looking for a seller of frog’s skin on eBay, when Stiles realized that Derek was still living in prehistoric times.

“You still use Internet Explorer!? Wow, you must like it nice and slow.”

Clearly Stiles didn’t run this through his head first, but as soon as it left his mouth, he knew that it was a bit too forward. But maybe Derek wouldn’t get it.

Derek got it.

Derek glared at him, but Stiles could see a distinct blush appearing that he would bet his balls on that had nothing to do with the choice of internet browsers.

—

But one is an incident, so he didn’t put much stock on it.

Now two, two is a coincidence.

—

Scott has just left, leaving Derek and Stiles alone.

“Well, I must leave you too, there is a bank waiting for a donation of my body fluids.”

“You’re a blood donor?”

“Errmmm, wrong body fluid.”

“You’re a sperm donor!?”

“Yeah, I jerk off and get paid, it’s great!” When he says it out loud he realizes, “Actually that sounds like I’m doing some kind of porn.”

“If you needed money you could have come to me.”

“Unless your deal includes me coming at some point, I’m not interested.” Stiles almost misses Derek getting flustered, which makes him think on his words. It was hardly worse than his browser blunder. “Besides, it’s not about the money. Well, the first time was, but they told me they were kinda low on donations and that I had some characteristics that were sought after. And then they found I have ADHD, but apparently my jizz can be used for research.”

“So you’re going to jack off. For science.”

“For science!” Stiles screams before leaving.

—

If two is a coincidence, Stiles is gonna make damn sure he finds a pattern.

For science, he thinks, grinning.

—

The third time takes some time to present itself. In part it is Stiles not wanting to waste an opportunity with a sub-par or crude line, in part is Derek probably avoiding him.

However, they are at Deaton’s, planning an attack on the Monster of the Week™, when Stiles drops the Very-Important-Mystical-Artifact-That-Deaton-Conveniently-Has-On-Stock™, AKA the magic stake that actually kills vampires, which are totally a thing. Said stake, which is very smooth, possibly from previous multiple handlings and stabbings, rolls under one of the workbenches. Stiles drops to the floor to try to get it back as, after all, he was the one that was playing with the very important weapon. Only his arms are somehow not quite long enough. He tries to stretch, but the stake is just out of his reach.

“Get up, Stiles!” he can hear the exasperation on Derek’s voice, and the eye roll is almost audible too.

Stiles’ mouth, true to its form, decides on an answer before his brain does. “I thought you liked me on my knees.”

The problem with the position is that he is unable to check Derek’s reaction, but the dead silence in the room is kind of a giveaway that his comment has hit its mark. Full on. With some other collateral damage too.

“Damn, Stiles, that was brutal.” Isaac breaks the silence.

“Brutally awesome,” Erica adds. “Although that is more a butt-up-in-the air than an on-your-knees position. Still works though, such a lovely sight.”

“I can do all fours too,” Stiles winks at Erica, showing that he indeed can do it, before getting up. He is about to check on Derek when he feels the workbench lift. He turns, and there he is: Derek and his unnecessary show of raw strength. Although it makes a pretty sight. Muscles bulging and all that.

Scott moves to get the magic stake, and thankfully he is fast, because Isaac says, “I think Derek is more of a missionary kind of guy, though,” and Deaton ends up needing a new workbench.

—

So it becomes a thing. Pickup lines, double entendres and plain old dirty jokes. Bad ones. Really bad ones. It lightens the mood, it gets Derek flustered, it’s just perfect. The rest of the pack joins in, and by the rest of the pack it means mostly Erica and Isaac. But most of the hard work is still on Stiles. He is the one that comes up with the most outrageous things to say to Derek.

—

“Hey Derek, is there a magnet in your pants?”

Derek just makes a questioning look with his brows.

“’Cause I’m feeling an attraction to those buns of steel.”

“That’s not how magnetism works, Stiles.”

“Want to help me study? Physics, Anatomy and Physical Anatomy. Hey, don’t go! Where are you going? I am in need of tutoring.”

—

It’s movie night, and Derek already looks pissed because apparently no one cleared with him that his house was going to be overrun by teenagers. Truth be told, he should be used to it by now.

It took some planning, but Stiles manages to get Derek to sit next to him on the couch.

The movie has yet to start, and Stiles is already leaning in to whisper, “Hey Derek! What’s your favorite silverware? Because I like to spoon!”

“…”

“Come on, Derek, spoon me like I’m your favorite ice cream.”

Derek’s hand is fast, and strong, and Stiles is pushed off the couch. He sees the movie from the floor.

—

“Nice socks, Derek.” He says when he enters the loft and Derek is putting his shoes on. “I bet I could knock them off for you.”

Derek just flips him off, and Stiles agrees that this one was weak.

But before he goes to the kitchen he adds, winking, “But I’d tie those shoelaces well, I don’t want you falling for someone else.”

—

“Hey Derek, is your name Google? Because you’re the answer to everything I’m searching for. Actually, forget that. You probably use Bing, anyway.”

“I don’t use Bing. I use Yahoo.”

“How is that better? Anyway, we really need your help, there’s a imp in the forest and it’s screaming for blood. Mine, specifically.”

—

They’ve gathered around the loft, and there’s booze everywhere. Technically it’s not a rave. There’s music, sure, there’s alcohol, there’s dancing and black lights. There’s no body painting, and probably one tenth of the people. And they had asked permission this time.

Doesn’t matter, Derek still enters his house and looks pissed.

“Come on, Derek, you said we could do it!”

“Small party.”

“It’s small.”

“In numbers, yes. But fucking hell, Stiles, couldn’t you settle for beer? There’s Tequila, Vodka, Rum, something that is probably closer to pure ethanol than to a fucking drink. You are all still under 21 and there’s more hard liquor here than beer!”

“Hey Derek.”

“What?”

“Liquor is not the only hard thing around here.”

“Goddammit, Stiles!”

—

By the end of the night Stiles is drunk. He knows he is drunk but he probably would have done the same thing if he weren’t, only a little steadier on his feet.

He finds Derek and holds his head on his hands. He waits about 10 seconds before saying, “You’re pretty. I’m pretty. We should go back to your place and stare at each other for a while.”

“We are already at my place, Stiles.”

“Then we go back to mine.”

“I’ll take you home, Stiles. And make sure your dad sees the state you’re in.”

“Nooo! Don’t do that! He’ll kill me. I can’t die a virgin!”

“If you do, we’ll keep your blood if we need it for some spell. Virgin blood is so hard to come by these days.”

“So considerate.”

—

Stiles is not even sure how they ended up playing truth or dare, or how they had managed to convince Derek to join. But before he knows it he has to pick a dare for him.

“You have to transform into a wolf and take me across the room on your back.”

“You want to ride me? Like a horse?”

“Yes, Derek, I want to ride you.” He adds a wink for good measure.

“What, no comment on the horse part?” Erica asks, “You’re losing your touch.”

“The hung-like is implicit, Erica. I leave the explicit for the bedroom. Actually it’s not very implicit because those jeans leave very little to imagination. Not that I’m complaining.”

—

What Stiles isn’t expecting is for Derek to get in the game. Sure, he’s been shot with at least 5 wolfsbane bullets, and the wolfsbane was really old, probably way past its expiration date, so all bets are off on the effects it has on a werewolf. Derek looks fine though. Maybe a lot more relaxed than usual, but that can only be good, right?

There is a beginning of smile when he turns to Stiles and says, “You know, I heard your body is 65% water. And, boy, am I thirsty.”

Stiles is speechless. Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek. Actually that is not aimed at Derek. Okay, maybe 10% is, because that was really bad. He knows Derek can do better and after all that Stiles has come up with, Stiles feels he deserves better. But the other 90% are totally aimed at himself. Because, holy shit, that actually worked. If he had just met Derek in a bar and he had come on to him with that line, Stiles pants would be already on the floor. Though, truth be told, had he just met Derek in a bar and had he just sneezed at him, his pants would still be on the floor.

But he has to give it to Derek, he got in the game. A game he is not keeping score. A game that he is winning 14-1.

—

“Hey Derek, are those space pants because that ass is out of this world.”

Derek rolls his eyes and deadpans, “They are actually baseball, and they’re out of your league”

“Rude.”

—

Stiles is perched on a stool, browsing through Derek’s kitchen cupboards.

“Do you have almonds?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hazelnuts?”

“No.”

“Pecans?”

“No.”

“Walnuts?”

“I don’t like walnuts.”

“You’re weird. What about peanuts?”

“They look like tiny brains. I think Isaac ate all the peanuts.”

“Bad Isaac. Raisins?” He’s getting desperate here.

“Maybe, you’d have to look on the top shelf, but they probably too old.”

“Trail mix? You look like a guy who would stock on trail mix.”

“Sorry. Been meaning to buy some more, but I ran out last week.”

“Dates? I would settle for a date.” Stiles asks, even if makes no sense to use dates in a cake.

Derek doesn’t answer, though. There is a very distinct silence of awkwardness, that makes Stiles venture a glance at Derek.

He is frozen staring at Stiles.

Stiles runs through their conversation in his head, trying to find the source of Derek’s reaction. It was all pretty tam- oh, right, dates. That one was a freebie, he didn’t even mean it.

“Come on, Derek.” He takes pity on him. “I need some topping.” At least this time he realizes what he just said right away. But so does Derek, by the expression on his face, which, granted, is a new variation of pissed-at-you with a light blush creeping in, a variation that is rawer, more animal than Stiles has ever seen. “For the cake,” he adds, keeping his tone exasperated as if Derek was being difficult for no reason at all.

“There are some mixed berries in the freezer,” Derek tells him before fleeing the kitchen.

Stiles figures he probably earned himself at least 4 points with the whole exchange. He pleasingly drops from the stool and saunters to the freezer. He replays the conversation in his head and he realizes that he would have been okay with some dates with Derek. More than okay, actually. So much more that he finds a bit tragic that Derek’s reaction to the notion is to freeze in place, look scared and then high tail at the first opportunity.

However, his overactive brain reminded him, there had been some blushing. And Derek had looked more hungry than scared at the topping comment. And Stiles can’t see anything wrong with a Derek topping on his cake.

He laughs at his own line, and stores it for future use.

—

“Hey Derek!”

“What?”

“You know you have a type.”

“A type?”

“Yes, psycho killers and mercenaries. It’s troublesome.”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

“Well, I’ve got good news for you.”

“What?”

“I’ve already did my stint as evil villain.”

“…”

“Too soon?”

“It’s always going to be too soon, Stiles.”

“My therapist says I should transform these traumatic events into something mundane, like a joke.”

“Your therapist that is an emissary for the Alpha Pack?”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you sure you should be following her advice?”

“Well, she hasn’t actively tried to kill me. Unlike some of my English teachers, you know?”

“Stop rubbing it in.”

“I could rub something else if you’d like.”

—

It's night, and Stiles and Derek are in the preserve, watching what could possibly be the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. Derek is prepared to fight the so far only zombie, which is making its way towards them, certainly not as slow as movies have suggested, but still lacking the oh-shit factor of a feral werewolf.

"You know," Stiles breaks the silence, "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather survive the zombie apocalypse with. Okay, I can, but you are up there in the top 3." And it is true. His ranking goes Dad, Scott, Derek.

Derek mutters what sounds likes "That's nice," but gives no other indication that he might have heard Stiles, his eyes never leaving the approaching threat. But Stiles figures impending zombie attack takes priority. And by Derek's tense stance, Stiles can see he intends to fight it. Stiles has serious doubts about the soundness of that plan. Zombie werewolf seems awesome until you are face to face with one.

"And if push comes to shove," he adds, "I can always save you by fucking your brains out. And vice versa."

Derek turns, incredulous, towards Stiles, just ignoring the zombie that is going to get really close, really soon. Derek starts to raise his hands as if preparing to ask what is Stiles' idea and Stiles thinks ' _That's it, this was one too many, and I sealed my fate as a zombie. I hope brains actually taste good_ ', when an arrow flies between him and Derek, followed by a thump of a body hitting the ground, hopefully the zombie's.

Derek and Stiles turn to the source of the arrow, to be faced with a disapproving Allison.

"Seriously, Stiles!? Timing! And place!"

—

“When did my house become a daycare?” Derek asks as finds the entire pack there, heads on the books.

“Probably about the time you went all _‘I’m the alpha now_ ’ on us,” Stiles comments, without bothering to look up.

“Naw, it was definitely after he _bought_ a house. Or at least something resembling one,” Isaac counters.

“I don’t know, I think I spent way too much time on that old train graveyard,” Boyd adds.

“What are you all even doing here? Don’t you have school?”

“School is closed. They are fixing the fire demon’s damage from last weekend. We are studying. _We_ are a study group, because _we_ are going to college,” Lydia explains, although clearly some comments are directed to those in the pack that don’t feel very strongly about college.

“Yeah, I’m learning about important dates in history. Hey Derek, do want to be one of them?”

“You do know that 90% of the important dates in history are tragedies, don’t you?”

“Then you and me, we can change history!”

—

“You spend so much time in my mind, I should charge you rent,” Stiles tells Derek while they wait for Scott at Deaton’s.

“You spend so much time in my house, I should charge _you_ rent.”

“Ouch. But I cook! And occasionally buy groceries, and clean after the pack. I should charge you wages.”

“You microwave pizzas, you buy junk food for yourself and use my microwave to heat it, and only clean when I make you.”

“Not true, I baked a cake the other day.”

“Because it was Scott’s birthday and he nagged you into doing it.”

“Aww, you want me to bake you a cake?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t need to be jealous of Scott, you know he’s my brother of a different mother. And father. But I’ll bake you a cake,” he promises.

“Cake?” Scott asks. “Are we having cake?”

—

It’s Sunday morning, and everyone had decided to crash on the loft at 5 AM after spending most of the night running through the woods in search of a toddler werewolf that decided that she was going for night stroll to catch fireflies. By 10 everyone is awake, still sleepy, and raiding Derek’s cupboards for cereals and cookies.

They turn on the TV to watch the morning cartoons. No one talks much, everyone is too sleep deprived. But Stiles sees an opportunity.

“I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I still can make your bed rock,” he doesn’t even turn to Derek, by now everyone knows he is the target of Stiles’ comments.

And that includes Derek too. “As long as you don’t scream _Yabba-Dabba Do_ while doing it.”

“Now I kind of want to.” Scott’s face says that he wants to too, Allison’s face says he’ll have to chance a wolfsbane arrow if he does it.

“No.”

“I didn’t hear a _No_ on bed rocking though.”

—

Stiles is baking the much promised cake at Derek’s place, and once again in need of some kind of topping.

“Hey Derek, where do you keep your nuts?” he shouts “Assuming you have some…” he mutters, before shouting again, “Hey Derek, can I see your nuts?”

“Top right cupboard.”

Stiles opens the cupboard and finds a single jar. A single jar with a single date on it. He thinks that Derek is finally trying to get him back on the date comment, but he can’t figure out what this means.

He takes the jar, and goes to the living room to ask Derek.

“Dude, is this some kind of werewolf behavior I don’t know about? A single date, an entire cupboard for a single date.”

“I thought we should start with just the one, and see how it goes.”

“The one what?”

“Date.”

—

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Stiles mutters as he looks at the small bistro. He should have put two and two together, but in his defense no one ever calls this place by its full name, and in any case, it wouldn’t be Stiles first choice for eating out.

It’s a kitschy kind of place, too likely to be crowded with hipsters and grandmothers for Stiles to feel comfortable. There are flower pots on the windows, and small tables covered in a linen cloth, with potpourri and candles taking up most of the space. The teapots have tea cozies, for crying out loud! The walls are covered with paintings of cats and dogs in tutus, except for the back one that as a replica of an old kitchen set of cupboards, with all the associated clutter.

Clutter that includes a lot of jars.

And a copy of the door sign reading, “A Jar in the Cupboard”, in a very nice cursive. So cursive that it makes it almost hard to read.

“That was one hell of a plan,” he tells Derek.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, though.”

“I am not proud of it.”

—

They sit down and Stiles takes the laminated menu, “Let’s see what’s on the menu? That is, besides me-n-u.”

“Well, today’s specials are,” they are loudly interrupted by their excited waitress, and Stiles already hates the place. That had been such a great opening line, and he wanted to see what Derek would say to him. The waiter proceeds to list all the specials, which all contain either jam, cheese or tea, or a combination of all three. They manage to place their order quickly, if only to be left alone.

“They make good jams here,” Derek tells him, as if he is a regular or has to excuse the food options they were given.

“So, do you like jam? Because I could jam you. Repeatedly.”

“Maybe I like _to_ jam.”

“I know, I have a lot of experience with being jammed into things by you. Doors, walls, steering wheels… I just thought it was about time I reciprocated.”

Derek’s brows furrow and he says, “I didn’t think I was that bad…”

Before Stiles can assure him that, steering wheel aside, he very much enjoyed being shoved into things by Derek, they are interrupted by the waiter again.

“I’m so sorry, but we have run out of mulled wine. We have cold teas and hot teas, and water of course, and this month’s special brew.”

“Yeah, we’ll have that one,” Stiles says, to make her go away, hoping they don’t run out of anything else.

He turns to Derek and says, “So, do you come here often?”

“God, no. Allison suggested this place.”

“Allison? You asked her for advice?”

“She gave me advice by her own free will.”

“And you didn’t check the type of establishment first?”

“I did. But I thought you would like the pun of it.”

“It is hilarious. I truly love it. This will be the story I tell my grandkids. Hell, this will be the story I tell other people’s grandkids that cross my path while I’m in the park harassing pigeons. We just have to endure it for the next half an hour.”

“And here I was expecting a leisurely meal.”

“You can leisurely enjoy that tea, before we move on to a place that has the right combination of meat and grease. And I could comment on the benefits of a well-oiled meat piece, but this whole decor is killing my groove.”

—

The drink comes quickly, but they are left waiting for the food for more than half an hour.

“All this tea drinking has left my hand tired, can you hold it for me.” Stiles extends his hand towards Derek.

“Just put it on the table like a normal person.”

“Let’s armwrestle then!”

“Armwrestle? Really? Like I’m not wining that and quite possibly breaking your arm and the table in the process.”

“But at least you’d be holding my hand.”

“Why are you so intent on holding hands?”

“We are on a date. I feel like I’m owed some handholding. You’ve been withholding handholding.”

“I know your type, you start by the hand, and by the end of the night you’re having the entire arm.”

“I would hope I will have more than just one arm.”

“Stiles…”

“I hope I will have your heart,” Stiles answers in the mushiest way we can manage.

Derek is having a hard time not smiling, but he forces it down somewhat before saying, “I can’t give it to you, I’m still using it and I kind of need it.”

“Tell you what, if you give me your heart, I’ll give you mine. That way we’re both covered.”

“I have a feeling I’m getting a bum deal here.”

“What? No! You get a younger heart, barely broken. It’s a fine machine, can handle any type of stressful situation. Or excitement, if you get my meaning.”

“I don’t know, lately you’ve been so vague with your meanings, I might need a demonstration,” Derek answers, and Stiles is sure he timed it to the arrival of the food, so that the moment is lost.

Stiles blush, among other things, is most definitely not lost.

—

They are making their way back to the car when Stiles spots a house with a flower garden. He rushes there and gets a flower, the ugliest he could find, although he had to make it quick before Derek would go there and stop him.

He goes back to Derek, who is staring at him as if he grew a second head.

“Here, I got you a flower!”

“What are you doing, Stiles?”

“I’m trying to woo you?”

“Don’t use that word.”

“What? Woo?”

“Yes, woo.”

“Not even if it’s WooHoo?”

Derek doesn’t even answer. Just stares at him.

“That’s from the Sims. It means have sex.”

“I know. But you are skipping ahead a lot of steps. I feel like there needs to be a lot more chatting, flirting and compliments for us to unlock WooHoo.”

“Hey! You do know the Sims! But I’ve been doing that for the past months. I just gave you flowers! WooHoo should work…”

“You just stole a flower.”

“Hey, it’s the thought that counts. I risked my life for this flower.” Derek snorts. “Maybe not my life, but I could be arrested for theft and home invasion-”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Stiles doesn’t wait to be told again.

—

**_The End_ **

—

“Hey, I’m afraid of the dark. Can I sleep with you, Derek?”

“I was about to take you home with me, but I think I’ll drop you off at your dad’s instead.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Then don’t stop kissing me to say something stupid.”


End file.
